Kiss with a Fist
by krakatit
Summary: Nothing about the meeting goes according to Faye's expectations and so she at least throws some punches.   Spike/Faye, oneshot


**A/N: **I was inspired when listening to a song with the same title by Florence + The Machine. I think the lyrics kind of fit Faye, Spike and their (non-existent) relationship. Hope you enjoy.

**Kiss w****ith a Fist**

I.

Over the year, she has imagined the moment many times. She's sceptically rolled the idea in her head like a ball in the Roulette and fantasised about the emotions that would take hold of her at such a time. She wasn't sure whether she, the most unromantic woman to ever live (if there even was such a thing as an honest romantic in this day and age), would feel what most women would feel at such a reunion. After a lot of pondering, she realised with a great deal of horror that whenever her mind unwittingly strayed to such places, she saw herself with cheeks dampened by tears, sobs choking back laughter, feelings of relief flooding inside her and threatening to spill as she hugged and maybe, _maybe_ when the mood was right and he didn't stink as much as he usually did, even kissed him right on the lips with salty tears getting into her mouth.

In spite of all this, she knew that those were nothing but idle daydreams. Cheating death once was possible, but no man, not even one who lived in a dream and could see the past with his eye, could cheat death twice. Even if not to her, Spike Spiegel was most definitely dead to the rest of the world.

Yes, she's imagined the moment many times and she's also expected many things from it — mainly some spectrum of sweet emotions and a strange epiphany coming to her.

What she definitely hadn't expected to feel when she accidentally caught a view of a head with a mop of fluffy dark hair and back clad in blue leisure suit in an incredibly shady bar on Mars was a scorching _anger_. It writhed inside her and for a second, she thought that it was just the few months old meat can she had gobbled down with Jet earlier for lunch coming back to haunt her. However, when even her heart clenched painfully, she realised that unless she was in the middle of having a heart attack, she was simply unbelievably furious.

Calmly, she finished her cigarette and when nothing but a filter tip remained, she put it out into a glass ashtray with a chipped corner. Then she downed her drink in one long gulp and slid from her seat at the bar, feeling the eyes of numerous rugged men immediately stray into her direction. It was no surprise - after all, since her failed bounty mission yesterday where one disgusting criminal loser had had the need to tear her clothes off, she was forced to find a temporary replacement for her usual attire in tight jeans that were slid low on her hips, purple pumps that made her legs deliciously long and a very distracting top that consisted only of a thing that was, frankly speaking, a bra. It was no wonder that those poor bastards had only eyes for her. It was tough luck for the lot of them, though, that she, in turn, had eyes only for one man. A man whose head she was piercing with her stare now and walking towards to.

He didn't turn around, even though the whole bar went silent and only the sharp clicking of her heels was heard on the stone floor as she approached the table in the corner.

He didn't look up when she hovered above him, casting long shadow on his drink and standing directly in the way of the smoke rising from the cigarette in his mouth.

"Stand up," she said, her voice colder than she had expected it to be. Her hand quivered at her side.

Slowly, he blew out the smoke and put out the cigarette in an ashtray in front of him. As if he had all the time in the world, he closed his eyes momentarily before turning them with piercing intensity at her and scrutinising her for a moment. She returned his gaze, her own eyes icy and seemingly unperturbed. Only then did he stand up in one fluid, nonchalant movement that she hated so much.

She supposed he hadn't seen the look on her face because he opened his mouth to speak, probably to say something overly idiotic as always, but he never got the chance before a solid fist connected with his face and he went sprawling on the ground.

Faye felt the inevitable sharp pain in her hand a second later and immediately flexed it before rubbing the abused knuckles - it has been a long time since she has given someone a punch so hard. But it was all worth it when she saw the surprised look on Spike's face, his eyebrows raised up to his hairline, supporting himself on his elbows as the punch made him land straight on his bum.

Faye gave him one long, what she hoped to be a condescending look and then turned around, the sound of her clicking heels and hammering heart accompanying her on the way out of the bar.

II.

After her grand exit, she definitely hadn't planned on standing next to the rusty door of the bar and waiting for the asshole to actually come through it. She had planned on getting out of that filthy place with her head held high and dignity practically swirling around her, on going to play in casino with the little money she had and maybe even finding some hotshot that would let her stay the night in his apartment before she returned back to _Bebop_.

But seeing as her plans and expectations apparently seemed to go the opposite way that night she found herself leaning against an icy wall of the bar instead, the cold air biting into her naked skin. If she had remembered beforehand how cold nights on Mars could be, she would have definitely put a sweater on. The goose bumps appeared on her arms and she rubbed at them absently, trying to gain as much heat from the friction as she could, which wasn't much. She never understood what idiot claimed it to be a good way to warm oneself up.

Her breath was visible in the night air and she coughed, already feeling signs of a cold coming. Just as she was about to push herself off the wall and leave, hopefully to some warmer place, the door of the bar opened with a metallic creak and a soft streak of light illuminated the pavement in front of her. Before she could even turn around and discern whether it was the idiot himself who just went out, a warm cloth was draped over her shoulders and, unwittingly, she leaned into it.

It was Spike's jacket.

She felt a lump in her throat settle down like a panicked fox and her heart stop beating for a second, as if it was squeezed tightly by invisible hands.

"Why did you do it?" she asked fierily, but her voice embarrassingly broke at the end, as if it was determined to betray her as well. "You never do things like that!" It was an accusation, although she, herself, didn't know what she was accusing him of. "You never —" she started again, resolute on giving him a piece of her mind, but her voice died out as if the fox in her throat was struggling free. It must have cut off her tongue with its claws.

Spike Spiegel, a fucking gentleman. The thought itself seemed completely ridiculous.

For a second, she contemplated bundling the damned thing up and throwing it back into his face, but even as she reached for it, her hand refused to follow her mind on the plan and she actually clasped it more tightly around herself.

She felt frustration build up in her as they both lapsed into a short silence and she watched him, leaning against the wall on the other side of the door. He rummaged in his pants' pocket and fished out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. He lighted one and when his eyes turned on her, she tried to get a hard look to appear on her face, but she was pretty sure it actually came out looking sour. With a neutral expression, he extended his hand with the pack towards her in a silent offer.

She shook her head. "I quit."

"Really," he said, an amusement in his voice hidden so masterfully that if she didn't know him as well as she did, she wouldn't have even noticed it. "So I suppose it wasn't you who I saw smoking in the bar."

"I quit ten minutes ago," she explained nonchalantly and when he remained silent, just puffing on his cigarette, she decided to add, "when I saw that _you_ still smoke."

A humourless chuckle came from him, his eyes still trained on the opposite side of the road. A shabby liquor shop stood there and Faye couldn't help but wonder if it wasn't bad for the business to have a bar and a liquor store right opposite each other.

Another silence fell around them and she listened to the sounds of the night city — the far-away cries, the drunken shouts, the alarm that was bleeping somewhere and there was no one to shut it off — while desperately trying to ignore the soft breaths coming from her right.

It was funny, she realised, that the first time the two of them actually managed to be in such a proximity to each other and not bicker or get into a fight, it would be in a place like this, with oily air flowing from the pipe stuck in a wall of the nearest restaurant and with some cheesy country song playing in the bar behind their backs.

She risked a sidelong glance at Spike, his messy hair the same as ever and his eyes as lazy-looking as always. The only thing that was new was a red spot on his left cheek, which was rapidly swelling. Suddenly, he turned his eyes on her and took the cigarette out of his mouth. "You're as violent as ever," he observed and slightly winced, as the skin on his face stretched as he spoke.

"Well, you deserved it."

He gave her a flat look that obviously said something to the account of: _for sitting in a bar and sipping my drink?_ but he wisely kept such observations to himself and didn't say anything out loud. Good for him.

After all, they both knew what that punch was for.

"I see you still miss her."

"Who?"

No way, she wouldn't have him playing dumb. "Julia."

A momentary shift in expression was all she needed. It has always been all about momentary expressions with Spike. More like watching a dream than reality. "I saw you in the bar. You wear your sadness around you like a cloak," she continued, trying to make herself seem casual and let a smirk appear on her face. Even without a mirror, she knew she had failed miserably.

There, an almost undetectable tightening of his jaw muscles and a soft crumple of the cigarette under his fingers.

"You know, it has been over a year now, you really should just get over her." It was hard saying such things and this time, she didn't even attempt to smirk. "Just like I got over y—" she caught herself at the last moment, but even before she had seen the widening of his eyes and a surprised look cross his face as he snapped his head at her, she knew that it was too late. She knew that he had noticed her little stumble and that he knew exactly what she had been about to say. Fuck.

"Get over me?"

"That's not what I said — I mean, that's not what I meant." Dammit, she never stumbled over her words like that, why did she have to start now? "I meant, get over your supposed death, your death and nothing more. Don't flatter yourself," she added in a voice that was hopefully confident enough to convince him.

One look at him and his quiet calculating stare and she knew that he hadn't believed a single word of all the bullshit she'd said.

"Say something."

There was a pause as he gave her a sidelong glance. "What?"

"Something that won't make it look like I have been pining for you."

His silence came tumbling on her like a mountain of rocks and suddenly, she hated him. His silence said_: there is nothing I can say to not make it look that way_. And out of nowhere, she hated him — she hated him because he had the fucking balls to play dead for a whole year, because she found him in a ratty bar by an accident, calmly smoking and with that fucking nonchalance of his sipping on his drink, because he now stood there and made her look like a complete fool. She hated him because she knew that if she said that out loud, he would add in his head that she didn't need him to make a fool out of her; that she managed to do that by herself quite well.

She wanted to punch him. Again.

And no longer than few seconds later, she did exactly that – for the second time in twenty minutes, she punched him square in the jaw with all the strength she could muster. This time, though, he didn't fall on his ass, but just let his head turn to the other side with the force of the punch. She knew he could have easily avoided it if he'd wanted to; that he could have even avoided the punch in the bar. That realisation made her even angrier.

She caught him by the collar of his shirt, but didn't manage to lift him up like she had intended to. He was simply taller than her. She balled her fist again and was just about to connect it with his face when suddenly the rage left her and she let her hand fall back to her side. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth instead, biting forcefully and searching Spike's face with her eyes, although for what, she herself wasn't sure.

She let go of the collar of his shirt after a moment and turned on her heel the second time that night. She ran, this time only the sound of her laboured breathing and flapping of Spike's jacket accompanying her on the way to nowhere.

III.

The first thing she saw of him through the line of the trees in front of her was the red light of his cigarette. She was sure that it was also the way he had found her in the dark, for she has lighted one for herself and was now sitting in one of the artificial parks that were rarely visited by anyone around this time of the night.

She watched him approach with his characteristic swinging walk and hand stuck casually in one of his front pockets. She deliberately didn't look at him when he sat down next to her.

"I thought you quit."

"And I thought you were dead."

Again, he chuckled humourlessly and Faye realised that she hated when he did that.

"I think you've become even more violent than before."

"I think you've become even more of an idiot."

He made a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat and slumped lower on the bench, an image of complete laziness.

"So," he started and took a drag from his cigarette, "how's Jet?"

"Good, I suppose. Still balding." She saw the corners of his lips turn upwards a little. "Not that your stupid fluffy hair is any better." Stupid fluffy hair that she would love to run her hands through, that is.

"I take it you stayed on _Bebop _then."

It wasn't a question, not really, but she answered nevertheless, "Didn't have any place better to go." She shrugged.

She felt his eyes settle curiously on her, but after she stubbornly continued to watch the still line of the trees in front of her without acknowledging his gaze, he finally looked away. "You still eating expired cans?"

"Just had one for lunch today."

A genuine chuckle came from him this time, so much more different from those humourless ones and Faye decided that she liked this one much better. She could definitely work with a chuckle like that.

They sat in a comfortable silence for a while before both of their cigarettes, Faye's first, burned out. Out of nowhere, a thought struck her that she wanted to sit with him like that forever. It was silly and she should have known better than to indulge such ideas, but it became such an unavoidable notion on her head at that moment that she, despite all the evidence to the contrary, thought it was a definite possibility. They could be infinite.

"I guess I should return this to you," she said as she stubbed the butt of the cig with her heel and then, taking the jacket off and folding it, handed it to him.

"Ah, that." As if he would forget about it, she thought. "You can keep it."

There was a short pause. "I don't —" she started, but something in her throat — maybe the fox — made her stumble over the words again. After all, Spike couldn't be serious. "I don't need it." That's not what she meant to say. Not what she meant to say at all.

A look that she has never seen on him before crossed his face, but it was gone so soon that the moment left her confused and wondering whether it wasn't just her imagination playing tricks on her. Spike took the jacket from her hands then, stood up in one feline-like motion and was on his feet so soon that she didn't manage to do anything at all.

Only when he made few steps forward with his back turned to her and rummaged in his pocket for the cigarette pack again did she realise that he was actually leaving.

"Wait." It was spoken so softly that he probably couldn't even hear it. "Wait, Spike!" She said it louder this time, as if she was trying to overpower some stronger noise in the background — maybe that of her blood rushing in her ears.

He halted, but when he didn't turn around, Faye sprung from the bench and caught his upper arm as if that would somehow ground him back to the reality and not make him slip back into his dream.

When his eyes finally settled on her, his questioning gaze was so fierce that goose bumps that appeared on her skin had nothing to do with the fact that it was so cold outside and that there was only silence and darkness around them.

She watched, mesmerized, as he slowly picked one of the last two cigarettes from the pack and stuck it in her mouth before he took the last one and lighted it for himself. When she moved towards the lighter, he shook his head, pocketed it and then, without any warning, leaned down and touched the lighted tip of his cigarette to hers. Faye took a drag, inhaled the smoke into her lungs deeply and then breathed out its whiteness into the night air. It was her first cigarette kiss. Just like a virgin, she thought bitterly.

She laughed. "You really suck at kissing. Just like I thought —" she didn't get to finish because Spike, without a word or any other warning, took the cig out of her mouth, bent down and then replaced it with his own lips.

A heartbeat and then the world stood still.

He cradled the back of her head with the hand where he held both their cigarettes and for a second, all Faye could think of was: _the_ _motherfucker is going to set my hair on the fire, _but then he slid his hand down to the small of her back and she worried no more, for his hand was warm on her skin and his lips tasted of nicotine and cheap alcohol.

It wasn't passionate or hungry or needful, it was just a simple kiss on the lips with no tongues involved and no mouths opened and yet it was the best kiss Faye has ever had. She completely lost her awareness of the world around them and for a moment, she was sure that Spike must have somehow made the time stop with that artificial eye of his. Maybe for that tiny millisecond, they truly were both infinite.

She slid her fingers into his fluffy hair and breathed in his scent, a scent that she had been inhaling from his jacket for the last hour or so in the park. All she could think about was the fact that even if Spike hasn't stepped aboard _Bebop_ for over a year now, he still smelled like the ship and maybe, _maybe_ it was him whom the ship belonged to the most. Or maybe it was him who belonged to the ship. Maybe they all did and maybe even Faye smelled like _Bebop_ now, a part of it and its story engraved in her heart. Maybe even if they were all somewhere far away, apart from each other, they still belonged to it together. They all shared one and the same thing — _Bebop_.

The kiss was over way too fast, Spike gently disentangling himself and stepping a bit to the side with a small grin. "I hope this proved you thought wrong."

And Faye knew that she was flushed and she knew for sure that she was panting, but it took her a while to know what he was talking about. "No — no, you idiot, any kid in kindergarten could kiss like that!" In translation, it meant, _kiss me more, you asshole_.

"Kindergarten or not, it was still better than any of yours."

She stared at him, uncomprehending. "What? What are you talking about? I've never —"

He didn't answer and instead looked at her for a long time before he turned around, his jacket draped over his shoulder with one of his fingers serving as its hook. His other hand was raised up in a wave and then, only then, did she realise that he was really leaving and that the silent wave was his goodbye. "Then again, a kiss with a fist is better than none," he said and walked towards the line of the park trees with one of the cigs in his hand.

Once again, only its red light betrayed to her his location, for the darkness of the night almost immediately swallowed him whole. She wanted to move — she really did — but for the first time in her life, her body just refused to take action and she was left standing there, with her lips kissed red and her hands empty.

In the end, he hasn't changed at all and she hated him for it.

But as she looked at his retreating back with a lump in her throat and then down at the cigarette that lay lit on the ground, she realised that she hasn't changed at all either.

And she hated herself for it.

**The End**


End file.
